I don’t remember much after I blacked out. Just flashes. Pain. Bright lights. A strong hand gripping mine, telling me to hold on, to stay with them.

When I finally woke, it was to the sound of machines beeping and the sterile sting of antiseptic in the air. The hospital room was too white. Too quiet. My body felt like it had been broken and pieced back together wrong.

The doctor came in, eyes heavy with the kind of pity I didn’t want.

“You were hemorrhaging badly,” he said softly. “We tried everything. But the only way to save your life was to terminate the pregnancy.”

I blinked. Stared. Waited for more. But that was it.

My hand drifted to my stomach—flat now. Empty.

Gone. All two of them.

My babies.

Something in me fractured. Not loudly. Quietly. Like the way ice breaks beneath your feet. The kind of pain that’s so deep, it doesn’t even bleed.

I didn’t cry. I just signed the papers. My fingers barely worked, but they moved.

But while I was in that cold hospital bed, grieving the lives I’d never get to hold… they were celebrating. Jake. And her.

Maybe that’s why my numb fingers found my phone, unlocked it, and opened the hidden security app I’d installed days ago.

What I saw on that screen? It destroyed whatever was left of me. They were in my room.

Fucking like rabid dogs on my bed.

My sheets. The ones I bought with him. The ones that still smelled like me. Lila’s legs were thrown over his shoulders, her head thrown back in laughter. She was wearing my silk robe—my robe. Smudged with my favorite lipstick. The one I could never find after she last came over. Now I knew why.

“Fuck babe, you’re so much better than her,” Jake groaned. “Ah! You're making me crazy over and over again.”

“She was always so soft,” Lila moaned, dragging her nails down his back. “Too nice. Too trusting. It made me sick.”

Jake grunted, thrusting harder. “She was too easy. This? This feels real.”

They finished. Sweaty. Breathless. Then she rolled over and lit a cigarette.

I stared at the screen, frozen. Then, with trembling fingers, I tapped save. The video slid into a locked folder—marked, dated, encrypted.

Because one day, I’m going to use it.

Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not next week. But when I come back?

I’ll make sure they never forget the day they chose to bury me.

When I woke again, the room was quiet, filled with soft light. The sterile hospital air still clung to my skin, but something felt… different.

There were flowers. Dozens of them. Arranged in careful bouquets across the table. A bowl of fresh fruit sat by the window, untouched.

And someone was holding my hand.

I turned my head slowly.

He was there. Not Jake.

Ethan.

For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. My chest clenched. The last person I ever expected. The only one I ever really loved.

He hadn’t changed much. His face was a little older, more chiseled now, but the calm was still there. The quiet intensity in those deep brown eyes. The same softness that once made me feel safe in a world that never was.

“Hey,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re safe now.”

My lip trembled. I smiled faintly, and tears started falling before I could stop them.

The last time I saw Ethan was at the orphanage. We were just kids then—teens, caught in a world that didn’t care about us. He was the son of the president of the company that funded the orphanage, always dressed neat even in the dust and chaos. But behind closed doors, we had a secret. A fragile, beautiful little world of our own.

We were in love.

Until one day, he was just... gone. His parents had taken him abroad—without warning, without goodbye.

And when he finally came back to the orphanage years later, I wasn’t there anymore. My real family had found me. I’d been taken away before he ever got the chance to see me again.

“I thought I lost you forever,” I murmured.

He leaned in and hugged me gently, like he was afraid I might break. I buried my face in his shoulder, crying silently, feeling pieces of my broken self slowly fall back into place.

But grief wasn’t the only thing I carried anymore.

There was rage. There was clarity.

They took my babies. Jake. Lila. They destroyed everything—and laughed while doing it.

But I wasn’t going to stay broken. I was going to burn it all down.

When I got discharged, Ethan and I separated after I thanked him. Then I booked the flight that night. Told Jake I was leaving for a “trip.” He kissed my forehead like he cared, completely unaware that I’d seen everything.

I almost made it out clean—until I saw the red lace bra and thong tossed on my bed. Not mine. Hers.

Deliberately left. A message.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream.

I zipped my suitcase, stood tall, and walked out like I still owned everything—because one day soon, I would.

The moment my flight landed, I barely had time to breathe before I saw them—my parents, standing just past security, waiting for me. My mom’s eyes were glossy with unshed tears. My dad’s jaw clenched like he was holding in all the things he never knew how to say.

They hugged me tight, like they were afraid I’d vanish again.

“It’s good to have you home,” my dad said quietly.

My mom smiled through her nerves. “We know it’s sudden, but the engagement meeting is today. We just wanted you here before it was all finalized.”

I nodded.

I didn’t care who it was—until my brother Ryan strolled up beside me, grinning like he had the punchline to a cruel joke. “You’re going to love this part,” he said. “The guy you're supposed to marry? He’s here. Visiting. Said he just came back from Paris.”

I turned, barely processing his words—until my gaze locked with his.

Ethan.

My first love.

The one who saved me…

was going to be my fiancé.

I blocked his number.

Jake.

After everything he did—after stealing my heart, betraying me, and sleeping with her in our bed—he had the audacity to blow up my phone like he was the victim.

Calls. Messages. Voicemails.

He just couldn’t help himself. Especially after Ryan sent out the wedding invitations.

Our wedding. Me and Ethan. Next week.

That’s when Jake lost it.

First came the confused texts:

Jake:

“What the hell is this invitation?”

“You’re getting married? To who? Is this a prank?”

“Oh, wait. It’s April. You and Ryan doing your annual sibling joke again, huh?”

“Good one. Really had me going.”

Then came the clingy ones:

“When you get home, can you make that spicy shrimp thing I like?”

“I miss your food. Miss your smell too.”

“Come back soonest. Please.”

“Clarisse. Baby.”

As if the last six months hadn’t happened. As if I’d just gone on vacation and forgotten to bring him a souvenir.

I turned off my phone and shoved it in a drawer, deep enough I wouldn’t hear the vibrations.

I was done giving him space in my heart. Or my head. Or my stomach.

Even if I once loved him so hard, it made my bones ache.

Even if part of me still dreamed of what we could have been.

But that part? She was buried.

Right next to the two tiny hearts I never got to meet.

+++

JAKE'S POV

I’d called her twenty-seven times.

Twenty-seven.

Each one went straight to voicemail. Not even a damn ring.

“Pick up, dammit!” I snapped, pacing my condo like a caged animal. The phone slipped from my grip and shattered against the wall. Fine. Whatever. It was just a phone. I could buy a hundred more.

What I couldn’t buy back? Control.

Clarisse was gone—and not just physically. She vanished. Off the grid. Silent.

And that silence? That was louder than any fight we’d ever had.

I yanked the fridge open. Half-eaten takeout. That annoying chili sauce she loved. I slammed the door shut.

Dramatic. That’s what this was. Classic Clarisse. Always all in, always bleeding love like it was her damn job. Yeah, I screwed up. A few times. So what? What woman doesn’t forgive a man who knows exactly how to break her in and put her back together?

She’d come back.

She always came back.

Because that’s who she was. Lunaric. Addicted. A fool in love with a bad habit.

Me.

She used to look at me like I was made of answers. Like I was her beginning, middle, and end. She called it love. I called it convenience. It worked. I gave her just enough to keep her hooked, and she gave me everything.

Hell, she even played sugar momma without blinking. Clarisse was old money—filthy rich—and I had no problem letting her fund my ego. I'd buy designer shit for Lila using Clarisse’s cards. Why not? She paid for it with that blind, obsessive loyalty of hers.

And me? I’m no saint. Never claimed to be.

I liked Lila. She was chaos, like me. Fun. Reckless. She never asked for my soul—just my time, my body, my loyalty. Clarisse, though? She wanted the whole damn thing.

And I gave her none of it.

Until she finally broke.

Then I saw it.

A folded piece of paper poking out from the console drawer in the hall. I pulled it loose, expecting receipts, maybe one of her guilt-ridden notes.

But the heading hit me like a bat to the chest:

“Emergency Surgical Report – Post-Miscarriage Removal.”

I read the rest like I was underwater.

Blunt force trauma. Internal hemorrhaging.

double pregnancy.

None survived.

Her name. Her signature. A timestamp that stared me down like a curse.

Twins.

I staggered back, breath knocked out of me. My stomach churned. I hadn’t known. She didn’t tell me. Not once. Not even a hint.

And I never asked.

I never cared enough to ask.

The room closed in. My chest tightened, rage crawling under my skin.

The paper was still in my hand when Leo burst in, all hype and no awareness. “Yo, Jake—bro, you gotta see this!”

“Not now.”

“Nah, now.” He shoved a tablet at me. “Ryan dropped the link in the chat. It’s live.”

“What is?”

He grinned. “The wedding.”

I frowned. “What wedding?”

“Clarisse’s.”

I grabbed the tablet, and my blood went cold.